That’s The Little Hot Dog Wagon that sets up shop at the corner of 123rd and Lenox/MX on days that conform to no schedule, and stays open for hours that are neither posted nor regular. The proprietor, Dawn D., makes her rounds in Harlem as she pleases, because no matter where she goes, a brisk business follows. She is not following the inert example of Mo’s Famous Burgers, a wagon that has been a warm-weather fixture on Lenox/MX between 117th and 118th for at least as long as I’ve been here (that is not a criticism of Mo or his burgers, they are worth the wait).
Today a small crowd had gathered at the back of the Wagon: four canvas folding chairs, the kind with built-in umbrellas, were arrayed there in a semi-circle like bleachers, as if those seated had bought tickets to watch Ms. D shovel homemade ingredients onto the dogs she was grilling. Three women were seated, three more were standing or kneeling, chatting with each other and Ms. D.
When it was my turn to order from the long end of the wagon—I got the Lunch Special, of course, for 9 dollars you get a great dog piled high with chili, cheese, and sauerkraut, plus a soft drink or a bottle of water—I said, “So you got an audience today, or is it a fan club?”
“What, them? Mercy, no, they’re here to eat!” She turned to the open back door: “You hear that, he thinks you’re a fan club!” The women laughed and leaned over to get a look at the obtuse man with the cane.
“People do seem to gather around,” I said. “Like it’s a social club or something.”
“You’d be surprised,” Ms. D said. “I seen people who met here get married! For real, right, Chris,” she turned again to the back door, “Remember Vanetta and what’s his name? They met right here”—she pointed to where I was standing—"and they got married, what was it, two months later. It was ‘love at first sight’ or something.”
“Appetite at first sight?” I said.
Chris laughed, but she got up grimacing and she bent to whisper “You don’t wanna know” as she brushed past me on her way around the corner where the soaring limestone Ephesus Church stands (it was founded as a Dutch Reformed congregation in 1886; the building was completed in 1912; owned now by Seventh-Day Adventists).
Ms. D heard that somehow, she said, “Oh yes he does!” Sotto voce: “They’re getting divorced.” Her brow furrowed and she looked down at the dog that would be mine, already swaddled in foil, waiting on only the sauerkraut. She addressed it when she continued: “He used her, I think, he was a user and she’s got the biggest heart ever, just beautiful. I’m glad she’s gettin’ out.”
“Sounds like they rushed into it,” I said. “You gotta get to know somebody before you get married. Although it didn’t help me, hell, I been married three times and I still have no idea who those people were. You ever been married?”
She said, “Once. Just once. But we were separated more than we were together, don’t know how that worked . . . .” She was still staring at the hot dog.
“You still married?”
That broke the spell. “Oh no, dear Lord, no!” She turned to add the sauerkraut, closed up my hot dog and put it in a plastic bag with a bottle of water from Whole Foods. “Here you go, baby, have a good one.”
“Thank you, Ms. D.”
I love your gift for narrative.